


Toxoplasmosis

by ChipAndDealer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deconstruction, Gen, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Mind Games, St Mungo's Hospital, Trope Subversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 09:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20544185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipAndDealer/pseuds/ChipAndDealer
Summary: It wasn't that Harry didn't like hospitals, he just wasn't used to them. The sterile smell that pervaded each mote of air, the sounds of sick patients, coughing, heaving, while seeking relief, and the endlessly white halls arranged more like a labyrinth than a proper building all rubbed him the wrong way, somehow.Of course, if Saint Mungos had a simple operation to remove the piece of Voldemort's soul from his scar, it was worth a look, right?





	Toxoplasmosis

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it's your local mind screw Dealer, here.
> 
> I've read a lot of Peggy Sue fics, and I enjoy them hugely, but there are a few tropes that rub me the wrong way after seeing them crop up a bunch of times. One of them being the classic 'Harry goes to Gringotts, or Saint Mungos, or America and they have an insanely easy method of removing the piece of Voldi-soul in his forehead, one which Dumbledore didn't know about because he was incompetent, evil, or both.' So I decided to write something where it might not be so easy.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

It wasn't that Harry didn't like hospitals, he just wasn't used to them. The Dursleys never took him for checkups, and despite Harry Hunting and Dudley's gang, he was never hurt so badly as to need emergency help, well, at least at Privet Drive. Hogwarts was quite another story, and he'd often joke with Ron and Hermione about getting in the practice when he was inevitably sent to Madame Pomfrey. Ron would laugh, and Hermione would purse her lips and say he shouldn't joke about being hurt and he would promise he wouldn't, then do it all over again the next time.

"Mister Potter?" An attendant called, and Harry rose from his seat in the waiting room and followed him back into the hospital halls.

It wasn't that Harry didn't like hospitals, he just wasn't used to them. The sterile smell that pervaded each mote of air, the sounds of sick patients, coughing, heaving, while seeking relief, and the endlessly white halls arranged more like a labyrinth than a proper building all rubbed him the wrong way, somehow.

The attendant showed him to a room with a doctor, who extended his hand to shake, which Harry took, albeit a little nervously. "Very good to meet you, Harry Potter. My name is Doctor Glumgold, I'm the chief Mediwitch on staff here at Saint Mungos."

"Nice to meet you," Harry responded, then backtracked and asked, "chief Mediwitch?"

"Senior position at the hospital. I usually take the most difficult operations, or the ones with famous wizards." At his continued look of confusion, Glumgold laughed. "Ah, the 'mediwitch' title is all there is: a relic from the old days where only witches were allowed to practice medicine, I suspect."

Harry nodded in understanding. It was probably something Hermione knew all about, maybe Binns had even mentioned it at some point when he wasn't paying attention. Either way, it seemed like he was learning more about the wizarding world every day.

Glumgold gestured to a plain grey reclining chair. "Please, take a seat." He waved his wand, presumably to cast a few diagnostic charms as Harry sat down. "You mentioned in your letter that you believe a piece of You-Know-Who's soul is stuck inside you?"

Harry nodded, pointing a finger up to his forehead. "Yes, sir, in my scar."

He hummed in acknowledgement, muttering a few more incantations before smiling and lowering his wand. "Well, I am detecting traces of magic in your scar, so there's definitely something going on. If there is a piece of his soul in that scar, we have a very simple extraction procedure."

"I was beginning to think I would need Voldemort to aim a killing curse at my head to get rid of it," Harry confessed, and Glumgold chuckled.

"Merlin, no. Even our most dangerous operations don't go that far. I hear from my patients that the procedure to remove soul magic is quite painless, in fact," he assured Harry. "Normally you would need to make an official appointment, but I'm sure I can free up some staff to help the famous Boy-Who-Lived. Would you like the operation today?"

Harry nodded. "As soon as possible." He wasn't normally one to throw his fame around, but just the thought of a piece of Voldemort in his forehead made his stomach turn.

Glumgold gave a reassuring smile, flipping through pages on a clipboard before casting a wordless patronus. A shining white crab formed in front of him, which he directed a message to: "Rosalind, Patrick, prep for a soul piece extraction, room 2B." With that, the patronus flew off.

"So what exactly are you going to do?" Harry asked, nervously.

"It's a very simple procedure," Glumgold assured him. "You'll be put to sleep with a draught of living death, while we check your soul for irregularities; once we find something that isn't supposed to be there, we'll use a soul carving spell to separate the foreign soul from your own, that piece of soul will be transferred to a new living receptacle, usually a rabbit or mouse, where it can be humanely destroyed. No more soul infection, healthy Harry."

"The soul carving spell, if it misses, could it damage my soul instead of Voldemorts?" He felt stupid for asking these questions, but the whole process felt far too easy. This piece of Voldemort within Harry was a secret Dumbledore had kept from him for years, and the only reason he'd shared it was Voldemort making a more direct effort at utilizing the link of late. If it was really so simple to remove it, why hadn't Dumbledore brought him to do that before?

"There is an element of risk in any operation," Glumgold told him, placatingly. "But we are consummate professionals, and I assure you we will take every care to make sure everything goes smoothly." At Harry's hesitation, he added. "There is also to consider what kind of damage leaving a piece of You-Know-Who's soul could do. I don't want to pressure you into anything, but putting off an operation like this could have long term side effects."

"I guess you're right," Harry relented, scratching the back of his neck. "Let's do it."

"Excellent," Glumgold said with a clap of his hands. "So, a few questions before we start: are there any enchantments on your clothes?"

Harry shook his head. "No." He'd always been sensitive to enchanted clothing. Hermione tried to give him an undershirt with a heating charm for winter quidditch, but every time he tried to wear it, he broke out in a rash.

Glumgold nodded, checking something off on his clipboard. "Good. The treatment itself makes no mess, but some enchantments can play merry hell with our diagnostic spells. Uh, are you currently afflicted by lycanthropy or sanguinaire vampirus?"

Harry shrugged. "They seem familiar, but…"

"They're commonly referred to as being a werewolf or vampire," Glumgold explained, patiently.

"Ah," Harry felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. "No. I don't have either of those."

"Very good." Glumgold made another mark on his clipboard before making for the door. He stopped himself right before he left, though, and turned to ask one more question. "Oh, before I forget, has your soul piece ever attempted to contact you in any way, or even possess you?" Harry hesitated as Glumgold continued. "It's a weird question, I know. It's extremely rare for an event like that to occur, but we have to ask these things."

"Yes, actually." Harry answered after a moment. "Is that bad?"

A frown slowly melted through Glumgold's calm smile. "Well, that does complicate things, somewhat," before Harry could interject, he added, "but we can still perform the operation. We'll just need to take extra steps to ensure the safety of everyone involved." He moved back inside and took a seat, the clipboard discarded onto a nearby table as he began to explain. "Normally, soul infections like this are accidental, owing to experimental or illegal spells that collapse and rebound, killing the caster and causing soul fragments to moor themselves into nearby magical bystanders. These fragments are mostly benign, but can cause mood swings and difficulty controlling some more complicated spells. It's better to remove them as soon as possible, however, as leaving them may cause them to mutate, as it seems yours has. Mutated soul fragments gain a measure of intelligence and self preservation, so as soon as it realizes it's in danger of being removed, it will try to lash out at its host or anyone attempting to destroy it."

"How do we stop it?" Harry ironically felt better upon hearing the news, confident that he'd finally found the other shoe he'd been waiting to drop.

"Your consciousness impacts your control over the fragment, so we won't be able to use draught of living death, we'll use a local anaesthetic, instead. You'll be awake for the operation." At Harry's nod, he continued. "It will try to do everything in its power to save itself, so you'll need to be restrained for the duration. I'm sorry, Mister Potter."

"No." Harry shook his head, resolve forming in his chest. "This has to be done."

Rosalind and Patrick were very pleasant, both blonde but the former strawberry and the latter sandy. They were younger than he was expecting, around thirty, he thought, and both gushed a bit that they actually got to meet the Boy-Who-Lived. He could never quite get over the fame. Apparently, Rosalind's cousin was a spectator at the Triwizard Tournament, too, so that certainly didn't help matters.

They fastened his restraints, and made sure he was as comfortable as could be expected. Several times they asked him to try as hard as he could to break out, and despite all his twisting and pulling, after a few adjustments he was locked in tight, lying down on the same reclining chair as before.

Glumgold left to prepare for the operation, then Patrick, then Rosalind. Harry was alone.

He couldn't move, and he felt a weight on his chest that made it difficult to breathe. In the corner of the room he could just make out an hourglass, dropping glass beads for each second, flipping upside down every minute, and rotating one click to the side to demarcate the hour. He waited, as the sound of the falling glass beads became the only thing he heard, as the hourglass encompassed his vision, still he waited.

Where were they?

Harry tried to pull out of his restraints again without success. He waited some more. An itch on his nose nearly drove him mad, but eventually it faded.

After what felt like an eternity, Rosalind finally reentered, still bubbly, but a little out of breath. "Sorry about the wait. Doctor Glumgold will be with you shortly." She said, tweaking with some instruments off to the side. "How do you feel about being the first living subject of a soul piece extraction?" She asked, adjusting a dial until a brass wheel began to spin. "Ever the trailblazer, aren't you, Mister Potter?" Her voice was tinged with a sort of nervous excitement, but her words were wrong.

"Wait, first living subject? Doctor Glumgold said he'd done it many times." Harry protested, and Rosalind paused.

"Well, many times on ghosts, yes." She said after a moment. "That's probably what he meant."

"Sure," Harry said, not sure at all. "That's probably it."

Rosalind bit her lip, hesitating. "Hey, if you're not sure about this, you can always opt out. It's really up to you."

"No. It's fine, really," he assured her.

"Tell you what," Rosalind offered, "what if I ask Doctor Glumgold about the operation? If it'll make you feel better, I mean."

"I guess, if it's not too much trouble." The weight in his chest still hadn't disappeared. If anything, it had gotten worse.

"No trouble at all," she assured him. "I'll ask him right now."

She walked out, and Harry was alone once again.

Or so he thought.

"Poor girl," Glumgold's voice came from behind him. "She's always been too nosy for her own good."

"You lied to me," Harry accused. "Didn't you?"

"Harry Potter walks into my office and tells me there's a piece of You-Know-Who's soul stuck in his forehead that's actively trying to possess him, and you want me to tell him there's no standard procedure?" He laughed, hollowly. "Of course there's no standard procedure, but I'm not gonna just let you walk out after telling me something like that."

Harry struggled once again with his bindings. "Why?" He ground out through gritted teeth.

"After the Triwizard Tournament, a student was killed, and you were the only witness." Glumgold walked into Harry's vision again, waving his wand to close and lock the door.

"Voldemort-" Harry started to say, but he was interrupted.

"Oh, I have no reason to doubt that you saw You-Know-Who," Glumgold said, placatingly. "But are you telling me that despite having a part of him inside you, you have never seen him when he wasn't really there?"

Harry hesitated. The train station, in the mirror, in his dreams. "So what if I have?"

"How do you know you really saw him?" The question felt like the painful numbness the dementors brought had coalesced into a dagger and brought to bear in his stomach. "Did you fight You-Know-Who that night, or were you dueling with a scared Hufflepuff boy without even knowing it?" Harry shook his head, desperate to clear the idea even as it rooted itself in his mind. "Can you say with absolute certainty that when you were fighting, you didn't cast a single curse capable of killing?" Glumgold raised his wand, the point glowing a dim blue as he leveled it at Harry's forehead. "Did you kill Cedric Diggory?"

Harry screamed and finally one of his leg straps broke and he managed to kick Glumgold's wand from his hand. It flew to the side, a sort of blue flame emerging from it to shatter a shelf with vials of potions off to the side.

Harry used every trick he had learned at the Dursley's to make himself smaller, every time he needed to squeeze into the cupboard, or a hole in the fence too small for Dudley's gang, every time he wanted to stay unnoticed even for a little longer, he used them all, curling into himself until he could wriggle out of the restraints.

He made it to the table where his wand lay, but just when he grip closed around it, Glumgold shot the light, plunging them both into darkness. He crept behind the chair, keeping his eyes and ears sharp for any changes.

The first to cast a spell would give away his position. It had to be a guaranteed hit. Harry gripped his wand tighter, feeling the blood pumping in his chest as adrenaline flooded his system.

It wasn't that Harry didn't like hospitals, he just wasn't used to them. Combat, on the other hand, he'd had far too much experience in. As a little boy at the Dursleys, fighting Voldemort year after year. Constantly forced to return to a place he hated to the point that even the world that wanted to kill him was one he held in such higher esteem. It was difficult to imagine a more perfect way to create a weapon.

He heard a step off to the left and shot a stunner, rolling to the side to counter Glumgold's followup attack. The spell missed by mere inches, illuminating his opponent for a bare moment. There was a scuffing sound as he change positions before Harry could launch another curse.

Another curse shoots out from the darkness and Harry just manages to push a chair into its path, the object shattering when it comes in contact with the deadly spell. "What will it take, Harry Potter?" Glumgold shouted, the direction of his voice impossible to pick up in the small room. "What if the next time you think you see him, you kill someone else?" He fired another curse as Harry dove out of the way. "What if it's a teacher?" He fired again. "What if it's your best friend?" Again. "What if you're seen and the hero of the light gets locked into Azkaban?" A flurry of curses destroyed the chair Harry had been strapped to a short time before. "That soul piece keeps him alive, if you're trapped somewhere no one can find you, he'll never be able to die."

Harry began his counterattack, slinging every curse he could think of, some spoken, some silent, all random. "So you're just going to kill me, is that it?"

"Only if I must." Glumgold sounded exasperated, even as he began blocking more spells than he was dodging, slowing down. "I have no way of guaranteeing the operation's success. I will keep you alive if I can, but my priority is destroying You-Know-Who. Isn't that yours as well?" His shield shattered and the only illumination in the room was the pale glow at the end of Harry's wand as he stood over his defeated opponent. Glumgold's wand was snapped, both pieces scattered to the side. "You have to realize, his soul is only getting stronger. He's-"

With a jolt, Harry sat up, rapidly blinking his eyes. He was in the grey chair, but there weren't any straps, and the lights hadn't been destroyed. Come to think of it, wasn't the chair broken as well?

Rosalind came alongside him, patting him on the arm. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" She asked, waving her wand and performing a few more diagnostic spells. "Free and clear, no more evil wizard souls in your head. Unless it's yours," she joked.

"What…" Harry struggled to think what to ask. "Happened?" He decided, eventually.

"The operation was a success," Patrick answered, entering the room holding a glass jar. "You want to see it get destroyed? Usually, it gives patients closure." He hefted the jar and Harry looked in to see a mouse, eyes an unnatural burning red.

"That's Voldemort?" Harry asked, pointing down at the tiny creature.

"A part of him, yes." Patrick set the jar onto the table nearby and carefully unscrewed the lid, pointing his wand at it. "Avada…" he paused, lowering his wand. "Actually, do you want to do it?" He asked Harry.

"I'm so confused," Harry admitted. "Where's Doctor Glumgold?"

"Resting," Rosalind answered. "Something you should be doing as well. An operation like that takes a lot out of the patient and doctor. You really should lie down again."

"Oh, come on, Rosalind," Patrick broke in. "He's clearly restless. Just let him take out this mouse here and he'll sleep easy." He gestured to the captured rodent once again. "Come on, Harry. One dark lord, ready to be deep fried."

Harry gave a pleading look to Rosalind and she relented. "Fine, but rest right after killing it, you hear?"

Harry agreed and stood over the glaring mouse, pointing his wand in a way it would be impossible to miss.

"Soul fragment disposal is exempt from the laws on Unforgivable Curses, so if you shot the killing curse, then that's that." Patrick smiled. "Never thought I'd see Harry Potter's dark wizard hunting skills in action."

Harry chuckled, uncertainly. "Right." His wand was directed at the tiny creature, like a lance about to pierce right through it. He'd had to kill mice before, of course, at the Dursley's. None of them liked dealing with the mice, so very early on it became Harry's responsibility to set and clean out the traps. How old was he? Harry couldn't remember. Facing him now was just another rat to be disposed of.

Except, it didn't feel like a mouse or a rat. It didn't feel like Voldemort, like the fragment of soul inside it should have. Something felt wrong. No, that wasn't it. Everything felt wrong.

The lights flickered.

In the brief moment of darkness, Harry saw Doctor Glumgold in front of him in place of the mouse, his wand leveled to deliver a deadly curse to him. Patrick and Rosalind were at the far wall, blood pouring from countless wounds, dead, or close to it.

The lights came back on and it all disappeared. Patrick and Rosalind were giving him encouraging smiles. Doctor Glumgold was gone and the mouse was in its place.

Harry staggered back, away from the jar and the people he'd seen murdered just a moment ago. "What's going on?" He demanded, clutching his wand tighter.

Rosalind smacked Patrick on the shoulder. "See? He's too tired, just let him rest."

Patrick shrugged, turning to Harry with a questioning stare. "I can take care of it, if you want, just thought you'd prefer to do it yourself, otherwise you might wonder."

"Wonder what?" Harry asked, cautiously.

Patrick's smile grew unnaturally wide, splitting his face and stretching to his ears with rows and rows of pointy grey teeth. "Wonder if Voldemort's really dead."

"Harry," Hermione's voice shouted, causing Harry to suddenly wake up, slamming his head into hers. She rubbed her forehead, scowling, and pressed a warm mug into his hands. "Drink that."

Harry stared into the swirling liquid, colored an opaque brown. "What is it?"

She gave him a look like he was an idiot. "It's hot chocolate, what did you think it was?"

Harry sniffed it, indeed detecting the sweet syrupy smell he had expected. "Nothing, it's fine." He took a drink, then added, "thank you, Hermione."

She waited in silence for a while as he steadily sipped the steaming beverage, before finally speaking again, voice quiet. "Is this another one of those dreams?" She asked. "Where Voldemort's still alive?"

"Voldemort's one of the most powerful wizards on the planet. He survived an entire war, and we lost so many people trying to stop him." Harry gripped the handle of the mug so tightly it almost broke. "If he survived again, I'm not sure we could stop him."

"Harry," Hermione said, gently. "You saw him die. You killed him."

"Did I?" Harry challenged. "Or did I just think I did? What if I only saw what he wanted me to see, like in the Department of Mysteries? What if he got so good at manipulating me, he could make me see anything? Do anything?" A thought wriggled in his mind, of an errant library book he'd picked up so long before. "Like Toxoplasmosis."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. "Like what? What spell is-"

"It's not a spell," he interrupted. "Toxoplasmosis is a parasite that infects rats and mice. It makes it so they're not afraid of cats, makes them attracted to their natural predator so that the cat can eat them. It gets in their head until they walk… willingly… to their death." Harry stopped. Stopped breathing, thinking, feeling, everything in him came to an abrupt halt. "No."

Hermione smiled, sadly. "I'm sorry, Harry. The Doctor will see you now."

"What?" Harry was in the waiting room, the attendant staring at him with long practiced patience.

"I said, the Doctor will see you now," he repeated.

It wasn't that Harry didn't like hospitals, he just wasn't used to them. Of course, that could always change. He'd be spending quite a bit of time in one, after all.


End file.
